


Moonlighting

by Anonymous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Lapdance, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sex Worker AU, stripteases, trans man prompto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Prompto Argentum just started working at the Citadel, one of the best clubs in the city. There, he runs into a client with deep pockets and an engaging sense of humor, and finds that he may be in a little over his head...





	1. Chapter 1

Prompto Argentum parked his bicycle in the employees-only lot behind the Citadel, just on the edge of the financial district, and teased the flyaways out of his hair. It was a cold night in Insomnia, turning sewer grilles into fonts of steam and chilling his toes through his boots, but Prompto was only wearing his chocobo hoodie and ratty jeans, with a new black bag slung over his shoulder. He waved to the security guard at the door, who grunted and held up a small electronic pad. 

Prompto pressed a finger to the screen and waited for the machine to beep. A string of words flashed around his thumb, and the guard grunted again.

"Good luck, kid," he said, and waved Prompto through the door and into a hallway strung with a curtain of fairy lights. Prompto tripped down it, searching each door he passed before he found the one labeled "break room," and gently eased it open with an elbow.

Ignis Scientia, the assistant manager of the Citadel Club and sometime chef of the downstairs restaurant, looked up from where he was tying his knee-high boots and smiled.

"And here's our newest dancer," he said. The sequins on his costume sparkled purple and black in the fluorescent light. "Right on time."

*

The Citadel was one of the best high-end clubs outside of the red-light district, and Prompto knew from working the poles at the Chocofeathers and Honey Bee that most of the people they hired usually had degrees in dance, acting, or musical theater. It was the kind of place you put at the top of your resume, with better medical benefits than an office job and actual paid overtime. It definitely wasn't the place for an amateur who bussed tables when he wasn't spinning on a pole for three regulars who wouldn't look up from their phones. But Prompto's friend, Noct, was the son of the owner, and swore he'd put in a good word.

So here Prompto was, standing behind the curtain of the main catwalk, dressed to the nines in a feathery angel number that only just covered his stretch marks.

No sweat.

Ignis Scientia was in some sort of daemonic costume, leaning back in the arms of Gladiolus Amicitia, who was in what looked like the skimpiest suit of armor Noct had ever seen. Ignis flipped through his phone, using Gladio as a backrest, and didn't even give Prompto a second glance. Sure, Prompto hadn't really messed up during rehearsals, but wasn't Ignis nervous? What if Prompto slipped on the catwalk? What if he insulted one of their regulars? What if--

"Five seconds," Gladio said, and Ignis sighed, stuffing his phone down the front of his costume. The curtain opened, and Ignis' face transformed with a dazzling smile as he stamped his way down the catwalk in six inch heels. 

_Shit,_ Prompto thought, and he and two ballerinas from the best theater in the city came rushing forward, placing their hands directly over the hatches where their poles would rise from the catwalk. It was their job to give members of the crowd more of a personal touch, since Ignis was salaried and most of the industry still ran on tips. Prompto gave a quick glance to the people seated before him and tried not to flinch. All business-wear as far as the eye could see. He hooked his leg around the pole as it rose, letting his body spin partly upside-down, and just as he almost lost sight of the crowd entirely, the man closest to the catwalk winked.

He was an older man, with dark hair just on the verge of silver and a trim beard, and his suit was dark black with discreet gold piping. Something about his face seemed familiar, though in the blazing lights of the catwalk, Prompto couldn't really figure out why. He placed a hand under his chin and watched Prompto with interest as Ignis tore through his number (and most of Gladio's armor), and Prompto took his cue from that and _maybe_ played up his moves. Just a little. It was his first real night, after all, and he wasn't about to go home without a tip.

The man didn't look at Ignis or Gladio once. 

When the song switched, giving the signal for dancers to step off the stage if they wanted, Prompto fell from the pole in a controlled drop and landed in front of his chosen customer's seat. The man applauded briefly.

"That was very well done," he said.

"Thanks," Prompto said, with a wink. "I have a bad habit of falling for guys like you."

There was a short silence, and the man covered a smile with his hand. Prompto's cheeks colored-- _too cheesy, Prom, fuck's sake!_ \--but then the man was digging into his jacket, pulling out a small stack of... Oh, gods. Those were hundreds.

"For the best terrible pick-up line in weeks," he said, and Prompto, deciding that he might as well go all the way, propped his foot up on the man's chair, giving him access to the strap of his costume. The man tucked the bills inside, never mind that it was policy for the dancers to do it themselves, and Prompto made to move his leg.

"I'd rather you stay," the man said. "It isn't every day that I meet your particular brand of fallen angel."

"Oh, man, now who's cheesy?" Prompto said, but he moved forward, bending his knee so he half straddled the man. He was good at lap-dances, at least. He could get a month's rent off a night of them without even paying attention, but with this guy, with his bright, attentive eyes and sly smile... Well. Maybe he could stand to get a little showy.

"Are you a professional dancer?" the man asked, as Prompto slowly moved to the music, careful not to let their bodies touch. 

"Oh, totally," Prompto said. "If by professional you mean shitty, and by dancer you mean gyrates alone in his apartment to top forty hits."

The man laughed softly. It was a nice laugh, warm and rich, and Prompto smiled. He wanted to get him to do that again. 

"I don't believe you'll find that music here," he said. "This club is woefully ignorant of the true classics."

"Well." Prompto barely brushed the front of the man's pants with his ass, and was pleased to find he could just feel the man's length beneath him, growing hard and thick. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but yeah, we could use some more _class_ in this establishment." He risked grinding down, just once, and the man looked caught between surprise and delight. 

"Of the sequins and bell-bottomed variety, I'm sure," he said. The man was wary not to touch Prompto, but he did slip another set of hundreds in the strap. 

"Nah," Prompto said. He draped his arms around the man's neck. "Sequins we have. I'm thinking headbands and big hair."

"Please," the man said. "Those were dark ages, best not spoken of in jest."

"Sorry," Prompto said, lips close to the man's ear. "But you said you wanted a fallen angel. It's dark ages and go-go boots all the way, baby."

The man laughed again, and Prompto pulled back to watch, mesmerized by his easy smile.

"Oh, my dear," the man said, eyes crinkling in mirth. "I quite like _you._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! This is set in a universe where sex work is legal and regulated and sex workers have recognized rights. 
> 
> And I don't condone power imbalances IRL. I made sure to tag it just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worried about continuing this because I got hate from a transphobic anon for making Prompto trans on the kinkmeme version of this fill. But I'm not going to let them win, so here's chapter two! There's smut in this chapter, but it isn't overly explicit. Still NSFW though.

The next time Prompto came on stage, the man in the black suit wasn't there.

Noct was, though, standing in the back of the dressing room with a to-go box of salad in one hand and a burrito in the other, looking like a bewildered middle-aged fisherman in a twenty-one year old body. He handed Prompto the salad and settled in Ignis' chair, resting one foot next to a neat row of makeup containers.

"I knew you'd forget to bring something," Noct said, as Prompto dug through the salad. Behind them, the other dancers filed in, whispering and laughing and helping each other change into new outfits. "How's the new job?"

"Doing good so far, I think," Prompto said, through a mouthful of avocado. He normally didn't go for oily food--Unlike Noct, who lived in a world where acne happened to other people, Prompto only had so much concealer to go around--but Noct was right, he _had_ forgotten to bring dinner. He shimmied out of his outfit while he chewed, and Noct leaned down to pick it up.

"Glad to hear it," Noct said, folding the costume over his arm. "You still up for King's Knight tomorrow?"

"Hey, princess." Gladio tapped Noct on the shoulder. "Don't hold up the new kid. Prompto, you got a request for a private show. You can say no if you want."

Prompto forced down a lump of kale. According to Ignis, people generally didn't get requests during their first month on the job, unless it was as a demonstration to an empty room, with Ignis taking notes in the back. What had Prompto done in the past night and a half to get that kind of attention? "Do you know who?" he asked.

Gladio shrugged. "You can look through the window first. Second floor, third door on the right. Code is 13529."

"Knock 'em dead, Prompto," Noct said, as Prompto ran for his locker. "I mean, don't actually kill anyone. I kind of talked you up to Dad to be like, a cinnamon roll sex god, so he might be kind of pissed if you end up killing someone."

Prompto flexed his right bicep, and ducked his head to kiss it. "With guns like these? Could happen."

He ran up the stairs to the second floor two at a time. The third door on the right had a small tinted window installed, and Prompto stood on his toes to get a good look at the kind of guy who would request a one-on-one striptease with a total newbie on his second night.

Oh.

The man from the night before was there, in a charcoal grey suit with a deep blue vest beneath, running a hand through his hair. Prompto's breath caught, and he hurriedly adjusted his tight leather pants, heart hammering. He punched in the code, and the door swung open.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," he said. The man gave him another one of his sideways smiles.

"I feel obligated to note," the man said, "that this is the first time we've met in this manner."

Prompto stopped. Then he held up a finger, turned around, and walked out the door. 

"Shit," he whispered to himself. "Shit, shit, shit."

When he opened the door the second time, the man in the chair was staring at him in open-mouthed surprise.

"Hey," Prompto said, Noct's lies of his status as a sex god going up in flames. "We've gotta stop meeting like this."

The man covered a smile with his fist.

Usually, Prompto tried to keep stripteases strictly professional. In his old jobs, a lot of clients thought that just because it was private, they could get handsy without permission, and Prompto learned that smiling too much tended to lead to awkward grinding. But this time, when he whipped around and flung off his jacket, the man in the chair laughed and clapped his hands, and Prompto gave a little bow. 

The man was the perfect client, staying still and attentive even as Prompto braced his legs on either side of the chair and slowly unzipped his vest. Prompto searched his eyes for alarm, always wary when a client saw the shape of him, but there was nothing there but rapt attention. Prompto let out a faint sigh, and the man glanced up, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

"You were so talkative before," Prompto said, shucking off his vest. He wasn't self conscious about his chest, not really, but he couldn't afford to even think about top surgery, and there was only so far a runner's diet could go. So maybe he always hesitated at that part. No one had ever noticed, anyways.

"I apologize," the man said. "Am I not meant to enjoy the show?"

"Sure," Prompto said, taking the chance to card his own fingers through the man's hair. "But maybe I like the way you talk."

"But what can I say in the face of such remarkable beauty?" the man said, and Prompto let out a laugh. "Too much?"

"You can give me a name," Prompto said. "Doesn't have to be yours. Right now, to me? You're _that guy."_

"Oh, dear, that won't do."

Prompto got up, inching his pants down over his hips, and smiled at the way the man's jaw worked in response.

"I suppose you may call me Reg," the man said. "And what should I call you?"

"Prompto," Prompto said, completely forgetting his stage name in one awful moment. He flushed, and to his surprise, found that Reg's brows had furrowed, that look of concern back in full force. "Or Prom, if I like you."

"So which should I use, then?" Reg asked, leaning forward as Prompto's pants slithered to the floor. Prompto hooked his fingers in the line of his thong and stepped out of them.

"Prom works," he said, and once again, Reg's face lit with unabashed surprise.

*

It was a terrible idea, really.

There were rules about this, Prompto remembered, as he slipped into the passenger's side of Reg's sleek black car, hands clenching on his jeans. A whole stack of rules, which Ignis had gone through with Prompto one by one, all about moonlighting and safety and taking clients home.

There were rules about kissing, which Prompto broke before Reg even put the key to the ignition, surging forward in a haze of lust and poor decision-making that had the older man gasping against his mouth. 

There were rules about touching, which Reg broke when he reached over while he drove, scratching the back of Prompto's head.

There were rules about revealing personal details, which Prompto and Reg both broke in turn, telling each other about their favorite movies, music, about Reg's no-good son who he was nevertheless painfully proud of. Prompto told Reg in turn about how he'd always wanted a dog, how he got into the business because the Honey Bee had healthcare and the Citadel would pay for his degree _and_ medical bills, how he took photos as a hobby and collected lucky cat figurines.

Then Prompto was in an apartment three times the size of his own, with family portraits he didn't even bother glancing at as he dragged Reg through the foyer and dropped to his knees on the hardwood floor.

"Allow me to at least offer you a drink, first," Reg said, as Prompto ran his hands up his legs. He felt padding under one--a brace?--and looked up at Reg, breath gone short at the slight smile, the light dusting of silver in his hair, the laugh-lines at his eyes.

Oh, hell. 

They never did get that drink. Reg walked Prompto into the most lavish bedroom he'd ever seen, where he lovingly kissed him into the mattress of his king-sized bed. Prompto kissed back, parting his lips to Reg, letting his tongue explore his mouth. Then slender hands went to his waist, and stayed there, hesitant.

"May I?" Reg asked.

"Hell yeah," said Prompto, and Reg chuckled, unzipping Prompto's jeans. Prompto was breathless and flushed when he finally lay bare before him, feet twisted on the sheets. Reg looked down at him with a fondness Prompto couldn't quite understand, and leaned down to press a kiss to Prompto's inner thigh. 

"May I?" he asked again. Prompto just nodded, over and over, gasping out something like a yes as Reg lay back on the bed. He scrambled in a rush to straddle his shoulders. 

"You're exquisite, my dear," Reg said, and then it was all Prompto could do to hold onto the headboard and wail as Reg put his clever tongue to use.

He came sobbing, grinding down on Reg's face as firm hands gripped his ass, and then again not long after, slamming his hand into the wall and arching his back as Reg pinched and kneaded his chest. He rolled over, boneless, and panted for air. "Holy shit. Holy shit." 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Reg said, a little breathless. "I understand if this is as far as you--" Prompto nudged him with a foot.

"Dude," he gasped. "If you can do that with your mouth, I _gotta_ know what that dick is like. For science."

"Ah, of course," Reg said. He maneuvered himself so that he sat against the headboard, and Prompto saw that his cock was already out, long and dripping. Reg reached for his dresser drawer, and Prompto took the condom from his fingers, ripping open the foil.

So he might've been a little too excited at first, and forgot that even after a mind-blowing orgasm, he still needed to take his time. Reg had to grab his hips to keep him from sliding down all at once, and Prompto moaned into the older man's neck as he sank down inch by inch. When he nodded and dug his fingers into Reg's shoulders, Reg slowly thrust up to meet him.

Prompto made a strangled sound and bit down on Reg's ear.

"All well, love?" Reg asked, and Prompto moaned, voice cracking. "I must know."

"I'm good," Prompto said. He guided Reg's hands up his waist and fully intended to set a slow pace, to savor the feeling of Reg's cock filling him, to coax sweet moans from his lips and whispered endearments. 

But Prompto was needy, he was young, and he'd had two shots of Ignis' coffee during break.

"Gods above," Reg said, as Prompto slammed down as far as he could go, using Reg's shoulders as leverage as he lifted up again. His thighs were trembling with the effort, hair falling out of style and sticking to sweat-damp cheeks, and he caught Reg in a frantic kiss, his movements making it sloppy and full of teeth. Reg was close, Prompto could feel it. He sucked a mark on Reg's neck and felt his whole body tense just before he came, Prompto's name on his tongue.

Prompto could barely lift himself off of Reg's lap without help. He curled up in the soft blankets as Reg got up to dispose of the condom, and watched him disappear out the door and into the light of the hallway. He returned a moment later with two glasses, and Prompto took one with a smile.

"The drink I promised," Reg said, and climbed back into bed. They sat together for a moment, ice clinking, breathing evening out into a comfortable silence.

"Hey," Prompto said at last, and Reg turned to him, brows raised. "We've gotta start meeting like this."


End file.
